


To Make Pancakes, To Make Peace

by LemonSchwaySchway



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Insomnia, M/M, Pancakes, mutual understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonSchwaySchway/pseuds/LemonSchwaySchway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles can't sleep. So he makes pancakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Make Pancakes, To Make Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tylerfucklin (zimothy). Because she wanted it. And I like to be a fic fairy.

Stiles is twenty-three and sometimes sleep doesn’t come as easy as he would like.

Derek is twenty-eight and sleeps like an exhausted rock.

So Stiles sometimes finds himself in their cozy apartment kitchen at 3:52 am, images of sharp claws and red eyes and bruises swimming behind his eyelids every time he closes them. Stiles makes pancakes; a comfort food that was always easy to put together when Stiles woke up in the middle of the night and found his dad more than just a little depressed and partially intoxicated. He makes them from scratch, because it helps him keep his sanity a little better.

The batter is simple enough. Stiles adds the dry ingredients together first; flour, baking soda, and salt until properly mixed. Next goes in the butter, buttermilk, and the egg, keeping the batter spongy and less like a liquid. He heats up a non-stick pan while he stirs, so it’s the perfect temperature when he’s ready to pour the batter.

Focusing on making the circles perfect, when years of practice make the effort moot, helps Stiles steady himself. The birds chirping faintly through the kitchen window signal the coming dawn, despite the sky’s purple hue, and Stiles toasts one side of a pancake too long when he stops to focus on the sound.

He has close to twenty pancakes when he’s done piling them all on one platter, and he heats up a bit of blueberry syrup up for himself. Derek eats them plain, and Stiles made fun of him once saying how that totally said something about his preferences. Derek, mouth half full of fluffy delight, spat back about what that meant for Stiles. They’d kissed and made up later, after a few flapjacks had been tosses about, tasting of syrup.

Stiles walks purposefully to the bedroom, pancakes perfectly balanced, and flops carefully yet ungracefully onto the bed. It’s not even 4:30 in the morning, but Derek _has_ to eat these with him. It’s just sad if he does it himself.

“Derek.” Stiles says, not really bothering to be quiet about it. Derek smelled the pancakes before they were even done.

“Stiles.” Derek replies, unimpressed.

“Pancakes, Derek.”

“I know.” Derek sighs and sits up. Stiles smiles at Derek’s bedhead, a phenomena that, while not particularly new, is for his eyes only. “It’s not even dawn, Stiles.”

“Yeah.” Stiles doesn’t give anything else as an answer; Derek already knows.

Derek scoots closer to Stiles, leaning shoulder to shoulder, and pulls the plate of pancakes to sit on their thighs. Stiles cradles his syrup dish, and they eat.

It takes them approximately fifteen minutes to demolish the pancakes, and Stiles moves to take their dishes back to the kitchen. Derek stops him with a hand on his wrist and takes the plate from him. Derek sets it on the bedside table and pulls Stiles down against him.

“Thank you.” Derek says into Stiles’ hair. “Those weren’t half bad.”

Stiles laughs and finally falls asleep again.


End file.
